


Fix You

by we_despise_each_other



Category: Shameless (US), Shameless (US) RPF
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mosher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_despise_each_other/pseuds/we_despise_each_other
Summary: Cameron is hurt during the filming of Shameless season 10 with the result that Noel finally starts to acknowledge the feelings he has been desperately trying to repress for the past several years.
Relationships: Noel Fisher/Cameron Monaghan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 70





	Fix You

**Author's Note:**

> Yes this is a Mosher fic, but it should go without saying that it is entirely a work a fiction. I do not believe that Noel and Cameron are or ever have been in a romantic or sexual relationship in real life (and if they have, that is really no one's business). This is simply a creative writing exercise and part social experiment. If fiction created around real-life pairings is not your thing then please just kindly move along. If, however, you have constructive criticism about my writing style, which I am trying to improve, please feel free to leave a comment. And of course if you enjoy the content, then those comments are welcome too!

**Tuesday, September 10, 2019  
  
**

“Jesus _Christ_ , Cam, pick up your fucking phone–” Noel swore angrily, barely glancing over his shoulder before cranking the wheel of his old two-door silver Acura with one hand and swerving wildly across two lanes of traffic. Several people laid on their horns as he cut them off but he barely noticed, far more concerned about making it to his exit than he was about ruffling the feathers of a few plastic Hollywood types on their way to aerial yoga.

The phone continued to ring hollowly in his ear as he took the exit ramp toward Westwood and merged left onto Wilshire Boulevard. It had been years since he’d driven out this way, but he still remembered every street, every turn, like it was just yesterday.

 _“Well you might have reached me,”_ Cam’s low tenor drawled across the line, _“but no one answers their phone anymore, boomer. Send me a tex–”_

“Fuck!” Noel tossed his cell onto the empty passenger seat after getting Cam’s voicemail for the tenth time in about twice as many minutes. He can still easily recall the day on set when Cam had first personalized his outgoing message just to bust his balls, claiming Noel was the only person he knew who still used his phone to actually call people. Now every few weeks Cam would change it again, always personalized for Noel’s benefit and always sure to make him laugh. An ongoing inside joke, just between the two friends. But Noel wasn’t laughing now.

He put both hands back on the wheel but didn’t ease up off the gas, running a yellow even as he tried to remind himself, yet again, that there was no _real_ reason to be so worried.

Yes he had thought it a little strange when he got the message late Sunday night that Monday’s shoot had been pushed back a day, but that shit happened from time to time – permits didn’t come through or sets weren’t ready or filming equipment went for a shit. Shortly after getting the news he’d shot off a stupid text to Cam – cause yes, he did actually know how to do that, Mr. Monaghan, fuck you very much – but he didn’t think too much of it when he didn’t hear back from him that night. Just because Noel was stuck at home, saddled with a wife and usually ready for bed by ten o’clock didn’t mean the rest of the world was, especially someone as young and hot and in demand as his redheaded co-star. Cam was probably at some press event he forgot to mention, or out with friends, or busy doing other things Noel didn’t like to let himself think about for too long.

And yeah, it was a bit weird when he showed up for today’s call time to find out he’d be shooting his solo scenes for episode seven instead of those he and Cam were supposed to film together. Still, not totally unheard of for shooting schedules to change at the last minute, and he quickly got so caught up working with the stunt team on location that he didn’t even have time to really consider why Cam wasn’t around to take the piss out of him for today’s out of character wardrobe – a purple collared polo tucked into pleated khaki shorts.

No, it wasn’t until he was back on the lot and everyone was wrapped for the day that word had finally come down the line that production would be on hold for the next few days because Cameron had been injured off set over the weekend.

Noel’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles started turning white, remembering the cavalier way Wells had dropped that little nugget of information before moving right along to talk about script rewrites and production delays and a whole bunch of other shit Noel couldn’t have cared less about right then. As if Noel’s whole world hadn’t just been tipped slightly off its axis by this little bit of news – by the sudden, uneasy realization that he hadn’t actually heard from the sarcastic ginger asshole in nearly five days, when in the past few months they had barely gone more than a few hours without some sort of interaction.

He needed to know what had happened, needed to know how badly Cam was hurt, if anyone was there with him now to make sure that he was okay. He wanted to scream and shout and start demanding answers but he knew he couldn’t make a scene like that in front of his co-workers without raising some long-suspicious eyebrows, so he just dug his nails into the palms of his hands and slipped off to corner John’s personal assistant as soon as they were all released from their informal end-of-day powwow.

_Just a sports injury. At least one broken bone but nothing too serious._

Noel had felt the tight knot in his stomach start to loosen from even just this little bit of reassurance, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully relax until he heard that Cam was really okay from the man himself. He’d sent a few probing texts while the girls in hair and makeup got him cleaned up, but no response. He’d tried calling on his walk back to their adjoining trailers, eyes lingering on the door marked “Ian” as he climbed the steps and let himself inside so he could change back into his own clothes, but nothing. Several more unanswered calls while battling the LA traffic and now that knot in his stomach was back to feeling just as tight and unpleasant as it had when he’d first heard the news nearly two hours ago.

Maybe they’d– _he’d_ –forced the two of them to grow distant over the years after Noel had first decided to leave the show, and _maybe_ Noel had still been desperately trying to maintain some illusion of that distance even now in the months since they’d agreed to let themselves be thrust back into each other’s lives, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew Cam. He _knew_ him, probably better than anyone else ever had or ever would, and he knew instinctively that something was wrong. Something more than _just a sports injury, nothing too serious_.

Noel finally slowed his car as he turned onto a street that had once been like a second home to him. The wide cul-de-sac was lined with tall palm trees, the houses all modern but relatively modest, pushed back from the road and separated from one another by high fences or thick, lush greenery. It was all exactly as he remembered it. As if time had stopped visiting this place the same day Noel had and the last four years hadn’t touched it at all. As he neared the house on the corner he eased his foot off the gas almost completely, a spike of anxiety rolling through him as he considered what he was about to do. The promises he was about to break.

When he’d finally agreed at the beginning of the year to return to Shameless full time it had been with a promise from Cam, and more importantly, a promise from himself, that they wouldn’t allow themselves to fall back into old, destructive patterns. That all the things they had allowed themselves to feel for one another, had allowed themselves to do, would remain as nothing more than old memories, sealed up and double-padlocked inside the steel box Noel had forced everything into when he’d decided for both their sakes that things had to end. They had started out as co-workers and then friends, good friends, and that’s all they could afford to be now if either one of them wanted to come out of this unscathed this time.

Noel knows he’s been lying to himself for months now. Years, really. But it was always easier to pretend when they were apart. Apart he could trick himself into believing that what he felt wasn’t real, convince himself that what they’d had wasn’t as special or life changing as they’d made it out to be. They’d been young and stupid and just caught up and confused by all the emotions they had to conjure up between their characters on screen. But every time they came back together those lies began to topple as easily as a poorly constructed house of cards in a gentle breeze. Their last slip up a few years ago should have been more than enough to prove that just being around one another was dangerous.

It had only been one night. Cameron’s hotel room. Chicago. After hours of intense shooting at the dockyards in the frigid cold – filming their last scene as Mickey and Ian, potentially forever – they had fallen into a warm bed together and just let themselves feel everything they had been repressing since Noel had forced himself to walk away, coming together again as if no time had passed at all. As if Cam wasn’t seeing another co-star and Noel wasn’t engaged to be married and their secret wouldn’t completely ruin both of their reputations and their careers if it ever came to light.

The next morning Noel had slipped out of the safety of Cam’s strong arms with barely a word – he was still a coward, they both knew it – and he went back to pretending.

Until now.

Noel pulled into the empty driveway and removed his keys from the ignition, his fingers intuitively seeking out one key from among the many and tracing its dull edges as he stared up at Cam’s narrow two-story house. All the windows were dark, no lights shinning out from behind the drawn curtains even though it was barely seven o’clock. Anyone else might just assume Cameron wasn’t home, but Noel knew better. He _knew_ him. He screwed his eyes shut and breathed deep through his guilt and anxiety, considering one last time the promises he had made, the line he was about to cross, before grabbing his phone off the passenger seat and stepping out of the car, decision made.

He knew he was a fool to think there had ever really been any decision to make at all.

He jogged up the narrow pathway, sneakers hurrying over the granite stones he himself had helped lay the summer Cam had moved in and was all taken up with first-time home owner’s excitement and DIY fervor. It was a good summer, with enough believable excuses at hand for the two of them to be able to spend time together even when they weren’t filming. Cast parties at Bill’s or impromptu BBQs hosted by Shanola where they could sneak away for a few minutes, hearts pounding and adrenaline electrifying every stolen kiss. Lazy afternoons spent floating around Noel’s pool, running lines they already knew by heart when Layla was home and acting no better than horny teenagers when she wasn’t. Drinking cold beers in Cam’s backyard late into the evenings, talking and laughing and opening themselves up to one another until even the most intimate secrets couldn’t get them as close as they wanted to be and they would crawl into Cam’s bed to finish whatever conversation they’d started with hardly any need for words at all.

Reaching the front door Noel knocked soundly on the thick mahogany, ringing the bell a second later for good measure. He gave it a minute before rapping his knuckles again, but was entirely unsurprised when he was still met with no sound or movement from inside.

“Dammit, Riley,” he cursed miserably to the empty porch. He considered only a second more before using the key he’d never been able to bring himself to return, letting himself inside the dark house.

Immediately he was hit with a feeling so powerful and so familiar it nearly brought him to his knees. He allowed himself a moment just to lean back against the cool wood of the door and close his eyes, breathing in deep and letting the familiarity of this place he’d missed so much, the comforting smell of it, wash over and envelope him again.

“Cam?” he called out, his eyes opening and slowly adjusting to the dark. He stepped further inside, not bothering with the lights since he felt sure he could still find his way around this place in his sleep. “Cameron? It’s Noel, man. You home?”

Again he was met with only silence, but he could feel Cam’s presence hanging heavy in the house, drawing him further and further inside. He took a cursory peek in both the kitchen and den, sighing when he saw that neither showed any signs of recent use, before quickly heading up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He slowed when he got to Cam’s bedroom door, open partway and just as quiet on the other side as it was in the hallway where Noel stood, heart heavy in his chest. He gave a soft, almost hesitant knock on the door before nutting up and pushing it the rest of the way open.

Here the curtains were only partially drawn and the pale white light from the solar lamps decorating Cameron’s backyard illuminated one half of the room with a muted glow. Right away Noel’s eyes were drawn to the weirdly misshapen lump on the bed.

“Cam?” he called out again, the stuffy room seeming to swallow up the name as soon as it slipped past his lips. He stepped further inside to try to make sense of what he was seeing and nearly went careening to the floor when his foot got caught up on something in his path. He swore loudly but managed to catch himself before his face met the hardwood, eyes settling on the pair of crutches that were strewn haphazardly at the foot of the bed.

“Shit,” Noel whispered, eyes trailing up to the lump that still hadn’t so much as stirred. He could see now that Cam was laid out on his side with his back to him, the blankets twisted awkwardly around his naked torso, one pillow held loosely in his arms and several others propping up his left leg which was casted from knee to toes.

Noel edged along the side of the bed – _his side_ , his traitorous mind couldn’t help but notice – and laid a careful hand on Cam’s bare shoulder, shaking him gently. “Cameron? Hey man, come on, wake up.”

Cam groaned lowly but didn’t open his eyes, simply wrapping his arms more tightly around the pillow in front of him and cradling it snugly against his chest. Noel tried shaking him again, a bit rougher this time, but the result was no different. He caught just a peak of the pained twist of Cameron’s features before the redhead buried his face completely into the pillow he was clinging to like a lifeline.

Noel reluctantly removed his hand from Cam’s warm skin and took in the rest of the room. Besides the crutches there was also a small pile of discarded clothes on the floor and a duffle bag that looked to be full of sports gear. Right away Noel noticed Cam’s phone wedged inside a dirty cleat that was sitting near the top of the open bag and huffed in annoyance. He bent to retrieve it and was surprised to see it still had some charge left, the display dimly lighting up with about 50 new notifications, most from him. He might have been a little embarrassed about his total lack of chill if the very next thing his eyes landed upon hadn’t confirmed his intuition and the worry that had been building in his gut ever since that very first unanswered call: a near empty bottle of Bombay Sapphire sitting open on Cam’s nightstand and an overturned orange prescription bottle right next to it.

“God dammit, Cam,” Noel couldn’t help but mutter again, stalking around to the far side of the bed and snatching up the pill bottle. _Tylenol 3 with codeine, for pain management_. _Take up to 2 a day with food_. _Do not drink alcoholic beverages when taking his medication._ Prescribed just three days ago by an ER doctor at UCLA Medical and already nearly empty. And no trace of any food in sight.

A litany of curses were just waiting to pour out of Noel’s mouth but each one died silently on his tongue as he again turned to take in the sight of the man passed out in front of him. His throat tightened up as he appreciated just how vulnerable Cam looked, eyes tracing over his mussed up and greasy hair, his tightly furrowed brow, the uncomfortable looking twist of his hips to accommodate his elevated leg, the dark bruising he could now see around his exposed knee and his swollen toes.

Noel moved on instinct, slipping off his shoes and crawling across the king-sized bed until he was just inches from the unconscious man’s prone form. He gently rearranged the sheets that had fallen from his body and ever so carefully re-positioned the pillows supporting Cam’s leg so it could rest more comfortably and take some of the strain off of his hips and lower back. It seemed to be having the desired effect because he heard Cam sigh softly and watched as he snuggled more deeply into the mattress. When he went to remove the pillow from Cam’s arms, however, the redhead instantly let out a moan of distress and his grip on the thing became impossibly tighter.

“Noel…”

Noel’s head whipped up as the mumbled sound of his name reached his ears, pulse pounding hard and erratic as he realized that Cam was muttering in his sleep. He watched as the redhead nuzzled his face into the pillow before resting his crooked chin atop it.

“…stay,” he breathed out softly from between pink, parted lips.

Noel’s heart seized up in his chest and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden prickle of tears. When he finally let them flutter back open they fixated on the furrow between Cam’s eyebrows, his hand reaching out before he could think better of it to smooth away the deep crease with the soft pad of his thumb, watching in suspended awe as the tension seemed to seep out of Cam’s forehead and his entire face began to relax. Noel moved his hand lower, palm cupping Cam’s cheek, rough with stubble, while his thumb traced over the smooth skin under his eye and across his freckled eyelid, finally moving back up to brush aside the loose strands of hair falling over the younger man’s forehead and threading his fingers through his messy red locks. He let his hand come to eventually rest around the back of Cam’s head, thumb mindlessly caressing the shell of his ear as he lowered his own head and pressed his lips lightly to Cameron’s brow, inhaling deeply through his nose before pulling himself away completely and quickly shuffling off the bed.

As soon as his feet were safely back on the floor he began moving around the room with determined purpose. He found Cam’s charger and plugged in his phone, leaving it within easy reach of the bed. He likewise righted the pair of crutches haphazardly abandoned on the floor, leaning them against the wall so that Cam would be able to use them when he needed. He unpacked the duffle bag full of sports gear and stowed it away, adding the dirty clothes he found inside to the pile already on the floor and scooping it all up to dump in Cam’s laundry hamper he pulled from his closet. Finally, he pocketed the bottle of prescription pills off the nightstand and recapped the bottle of gin, grabbing it and the abandoned glass next to it to bring down with him to the kitchen.

He busied himself with other menial tasks downstairs for a while – taking out last week’s trash, bringing in Cam’s mail, starting a load of laundry – but really it was all just an excuse for him to take a minute to try and catch his breath. He felt like his lungs had been laboring to draw in sufficient oxygen since the moment he first heard Cam had been hurt. Seeing now with his own eyes that Cam’s physical injury may have been a catalyst for him slipping into that dark emotional place he sometimes visited had not made the work of his overtaxed lungs any easier.

He drew his phone out of the pocket of his jeans while he wandered back into Cam’s spacious kitchen, thinking he would throw something together for him to eat once he finally regained consciousness – forcing him to eat, if he had to. He opened up his recent messages while he pulled out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter without thinking, both still exactly where he knew they would be. He set them down on the marble island and let his thumbs hover over the keyboard for a few moments before he hastily typed out a short message before he could change his mind.

To Layla (8:34 pm): _Hey. Won’t be home tonight, just didn’t want you to worry._

He didn’t have to wait long for a response.

From Layla (8:35 pm): _Everything ok?_

Noel quickly considered his options. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing or what the hell was going to happen when Cam woke up, but he did know with a sudden jolt of clarity that he didn’t want to get tangled up in the same web of lies he had in the past. Layla knew now of the relationship that had developed between him and Cameron over the years – from coworkers to friends and then lovers. She knew she was only a very small part of the reason he had finally ended it all and she knew of his slip up in Chicago two years ago after he had promised her it was already over. She had still wanted to go through with their marriage anyway, too accustomed to a certain way of life to be willing to give it all up over a secret affair she knew he would never have the stones to make public anyway. She was okay to live with a certain degree of denial so long as to the outside world they continued to look like the perfect, happy couple, and so long as she continued to get most of the things out of their life together that she wanted: stability, a nice home, the approval and support of their parents, the promise of kids. Eventually he had convinced himself that he was okay with that too.

Until now, suddenly, he wasn’t.

Until now, standing in the kitchen where he once made French toast with Cam’s arms looped tightly around his waist, remembering the feel of Cam's nose buried behind his ear and his chapped lips humming against his neck – until now, looking out into the backyard where they had once fucked on a wooden Adirondack chair because the idea of separating for the ten seconds it would take them to get back inside was inconceivable – until now, knowing Cam was asleep and in pain in the room just above him and realizing that he couldn’t imagine leaving to be anywhere else right now – until now, when the weight of all the lies and years of denial was just too much to bear.

To Layla (8:37 pm): _Cam’s hurt and I don’t think he’s doing so good. Gonna stay here with him._  
To Layla (8:37 pm): _I need to be here with him._

He placed his phone down on the counter, eager now to get back to Cam’s room where he could make sure the drunk, drugged up idiot was still okay. He quickly threw together a few peanut butter slices and filled a tall glass with cold water from the fridge. When he was finished cleaning up the small mess he had made he realized he still hadn’t received any further response from Layla and took a minute to think about what else he might say. How to explain. In the end he realized there was really only one thing he _could_ say.

To Layla (8:46 pm): _I’m sorry._

He powered down his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, picking up the glass of water and the small plate of sandwiches and heading back upstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I started without any set direction or plan. It may not even BE a story. I have only a vague idea of what I want to happen in one additional chapter but beyond that I don't know. I am really only writing when inspired and when I have the time. If people are interested I will try to add more as often as I am able. Thanks for reading. :)


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